Jason should’ve known better than to argue with you when that look hit your face.

The city alarms were already screaming when he grabbed your wrist at the edge of the rooftop.

Below them, the city looked like a wound split open. Like the city was tearing itself open—sirens, firelight, collapsing steel, citizens screaming and scrambling for safety, buildings collapsing—and you determined to fix it. To save everyone. Even if that means dying to do so.

“No,” he said immediately, tightening his grip. “Absolutely not. You are not going down there.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “People are down there, Jason.”

“And you are up here,” he snapped back, voice sharper than he meant. His hand didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened. “I don’t care how many capes are in your family, you don’t walk into a kryptonite storm like it’s just another Tuesday.”

Your eyes flicked to him then—steady, stubborn, maddeningly calm. “Let go.”

That was the problem with you. You didn’t need to be stronger than him physically. You just had to decide. And Jason felt it the second you moved—that quiet, inevitable shift where you stopped being held by anything except your own will. “Sunshine, don’t—” he started, but you were already gone, launching off the roof into the burning air before he could finish the sentence.

Jason felt panic gripping him as you fly off. The villain you guys had been facing for months trying to stop had somehow gotten his hands on Kryptonite. We don’t know how. All we know is he has enough for it to be lethal.

And Jason couldn’t stop you.